


get lost in your lungs

by ohcinnamon



Category: Bandom, Fall Out Boy
Genre: Backstage, Blow Jobs, Hand Jobs, M/M, Making Out, Oral Sex, that's a tag?? damn, you know the webster hall show where they spent the entire time flirting? yeah
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-12
Updated: 2018-01-12
Packaged: 2019-03-03 23:39:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,046
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13351911
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohcinnamon/pseuds/ohcinnamon
Summary: And then it’s just him and Pete. Pete, who’s still got sweat dripping down the side of his face, whose chest is still heaving, whose lips are parted ever so lightly, who looks kind of stupidly sinful in this dim lighting.just smut based off the webster hall show back in 2013. that's literally all it is.





	get lost in your lungs

**Author's Note:**

  * For [emeraldcitydowntowngirl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/emeraldcitydowntowngirl/gifts).



> once upon a time, uma gifted me some smut in the form of [pete and patrick watching the emoji movie](http://www.archiveofourown.org/works/11691021). i started writing this on a whim last night, and figured...it's my turn to return the favor, so why not?
> 
> (title from "single" by the neighbourhood)

They step off the stage at Webster, and the crowd is still screaming. God, Patrick had missed that. He’d missed a lot of things about performing — the way it felt to have their lyrics sang back to them, the sensation of the music thrumming through him when he knew they were putting on a good show, the exhilaration of being on top of the world — but hearing their voices even after they leave the room is still his favorite part.

He grabs a towel to wipe off the sweat, his heart still racing from the adrenaline of being on stage...but also from the way Pete had looked at him before their last song, the way his eyes had twinkled with something mischievous and his hand had lingered longer than it should have on Patrick’s arm. They’d been flirting pretty obviously all night, from Pete calling him an angel to slipping innuendos on stage to flat out staring at him — he’d figured they would fall back into their old routine at some point, but not _this_ quickly, hot damn.

He’s wanted it though, that’s for sure. It’s not like that’s something either of them can deny, not at this point.

“I call first shower!” Joe declares all of the sudden, making a break for the dressing room he shares with Andy, the latter of whom is hot on his tail.

“Oh no you don’t, Trohman! That shower is mine!” Joe’s laughter and both of their footsteps disappear down the hallway, fading away to nothing.

And then it’s just him and Pete. Pete, who’s still got sweat dripping down the side of his face, whose chest is still heaving, whose lips are parted ever so lightly, who looks kind of stupidly _sinful_ in this dim lighting.

Patrick just looks at him, breathing hard, unable to tear his gaze away, and Pete’s staring right back at him; he knows that Pete’s thinking the same thing as he is. Sure enough, when he starts across the room, a fire in the pit of his stomach, Pete is right there to meet him halfway, curling his fingers into Patrick’s t-shirt so tightly his knuckles go white. When his arms come up to clutch at Pete, to pull him closer to his body when their lips meet, it’s pure muscle memory.

“ _Trick_ ,” Pete murmurs into his mouth in-between kisses, one arm wrapping tighter around his waist. “God, I never thought I’d get to do this again.”

Something about that makes Patrick’s heart clench painfully, and he kisses him rougher, unrelenting, as a result. “Fuck you; you could never let this go and you know it.”

Pete slides his tongue against Patrick’s in response to that and it’s _bliss_ , being so entangled in each other again for the first time in forever. He feels one hand slip into the hair at the back of his neck, keeping him steady, and he can’t help but smile — it seems as though Pete’s falling back into muscle memory, too. Pete’s other hand slides up the back of his shirt, tracing patterns into the warm skin, and it’s beautiful. Patrick just sighs into the kiss, wanting to disappear with him right then, to get lost in his lungs and never come back.

“Missed this,” Patrick admits, tucking one hand into Pete’s back pocket and squeezing gently. “Missed having you like this, knowing that right now, you’re just _mine_.”

Pete pushes him up against the nearest wall at that, slots his leg between Patrick’s and rolls his hips just to hear him whine. Patrick grinds down onto his thigh impatiently, inhibitions flying out the window. Pete drops his head to pepper kisses down his jawline and neck, and he _wants._ “Damn right, I am. We spent too much time apart.”

“We gotta go somewhere,” Patrick mumbles, trying to catch his breath while Pete is still pressing kisses to his neck. “Can’t stay out here in the open, not with all the things I wanna do to you.”

Pete shivers happily, pulling back and grinning at him. “Way ahead of you, Stump. Let’s go.”

They stumble away from the wall, arms and legs still half-entwined, and begin the awkward, hasty fumble toward their dressing room. This, too is not unfamiliar, though Patrick wishes it was. He hates this part. They barely make it halfway down the hallway when Patrick gets tired of this, grabs Pete by the shirt, pulls him backward, whisks him into their dressing room, and locks the door behind them. It’s not the first time he’s been grateful that they have a separate room from Joe and Andy, and it probably won’t be the last time.

When he turns around, Pete is staring at him with pure longing in his gaze. “ _Patrick,_ ” he whispers, moving toward him slowly. Patrick steps into his embrace, blinking up at him curiously. “You have no idea how much I’ve missed this, wanted this.”

“I think I have some sort of idea,” Patrick mumbles, bumping their foreheads together so that their noses brush. It’s a softer moment than they usually have when they’re up to this sort of thing, but...it’s nice. He could get used to it being a reoccurring thing. “I’ve wanted this too, if that counts for anything.”

“I wasn’t lying out there on stage, you know,” Pete says, an appreciative smile curling up the corners of his lips. “You’re a goddamn angel and you don’t even know it. So fucking gorgeous, Trick, oh my god.”

“Shut up,” Patrick whispers back, a hot flush crawling through his cheeks and up his neck, hating how much of an effect Pete’s compliments still have on him even after all these years. He digs his nails into Pete’s back and rolls his hips into his, raising a quiet moan from the latter. “Put that mouth to better use, hmm?”

“Sure thing, sweetheart,” Pete whispers, leaning in to kiss him again, and then it’s like the floor falls out from under him, because...shit. He hasn’t been kissed, not like _this_ , in ages. He’d forgotten the way Pete could get under his skin, could have an effect on him, like nobody else. Pete kisses him slow, sweet, and it’s not lust that comes across to Patrick. No, it feels a lot like _love,_ and his heart flips because even after all this time, Pete...Pete still loves him, and that’s crazy.

But it’s their own kind of crazy, and he’s more than okay with that.

Pete backs him up against a wall again, bracing him so that he can get back to work on his neck, but abruptly stops after a few seconds without warning. He seems to get a better idea then, eyes sparkling mischievously. Before Patrick can object to him pulling away, Pete sinks to his knees ever so slowly, keeping his eyes trained on Patrick’s the entire time. Patrick's breath hitches in his throat. _Holy shit. Holy fucking shit._

“You said to put my mouth to better use.” Pete looks up at him with wide eyes, lips spit-slick and swollen. He darts his tongue out over them, gaze darkened with want, and Patrick feels his cheeks go even redder, if that's possible at all. “Can I?”

“If you feel the need to,” Patrick tries to edge a bit of sarcasm into his voice, but it just comes out as whiny and desperate — which, hey, isn't too far from the truth, considering the prettiest person he’s ever known is on his knees in front of him. Pete obliges eagerly, tugging at his waistband impatiently.

“These need to be off. Or at least down. Or something,” Pete muses, tugging at them. Before Patrick knows it, he’s got his pants around his knees and Pete mouthing at his cock through his underwear, because the universe has apparently decided to give him the best gift _ever_ tonight. “I’m gonna take these off too, okay, baby?”

Patrick just nods, biting his lip to keep himself from babbling nonsense, as Pete works them down slowly and nuzzles his face between Patrick’s thighs. Patrick can’t help the low whimper that falls from his mouth when Pete drags his tongue up the inside of his thigh, then kisses it softly, just a ghosting of his lips.

All of a sudden, Pete _bites_ , then mouths damply at the spot, and Patrick's biting his lip so hard he tastes blood because _oh my fucking god_. Pete’s always been good at this, but it seems like he’s forgotten just _how_ good he was at it. Part of him is furious that Pete is such a good tease, but the other part of him is just resolved to be even more of a dick when it's his turn. Teasing? Two can play at that game.

Speaking of teasing, Pete licks a long stripe all the way up his inner thigh again, stopping to suck a mark into his hipbone, and Patrick gasps so hard he nearly passes out. “Fucking _hell,_ Wentz.”

The whine that falls from his mouth sounds dirtier than anything he's ever heard, and even Pete has to stop for a second to suck in a breath. “You like that?” Pete asks, breath still hot against his skin. Patrick nods, bracing himself against the wall because _fuck_ , his knees might actually give out from under him if he's not careful. If he accidentally knees Pete in the face while getting head, he's never gonna forgive himself.

He threads a hand into Pete’s hair, groaning quietly, and tries to ignore the way Pete chuckles softly, kissing his hipbones over and over again. He’s doing his best to hold out — he wants to impress, of course, it’s been a while — but it’s getting difficult at this point, with Pete’s hands gently stroking the insides of his thighs like that.

“If you don’t stop fucking around and put your mouth on my dick, I’m gonna kick you straight in the nose,” Patrick finally sighs, looking down at him with the most stern expression he can muster in this sort of situation.

Pete does a mock salute, looking up at him with a goofy smile on his face. “Your wish is my command, Trickster.”

If Pete wasn’t so damn good at it, Patrick would’ve kicked him in the face for that alone.

In fact, Pete’s just as good as he remembers, possibly better; it makes him a little bit jealous that he wasn’t the one keeping him company during the hiatus. He remembers hushed, quick makeout-slash-handjob sessions on the bus that ended with one or both of their pants sticky, nights spent in five-star hotels where they could be as loud as they wanted; but if he’s being honest, this is one of his favorite kind of hookups. The adrenaline from the stage combined with the dirty talk and the thrill that they could be interrupted at any minute? _That_ makes for some good fucking orgasms.

Okay, that, and the fact that Pete is like, _gifted_ at giving head, seriously. He looks up at Patrick then, eyes dark with lust, and dives all the way down, a low moan rising in his throat. He pulls off quickly, ignoring Patrick’s groan of protest, smirking devilishly. “What, Patrick, you ready to go already? Has it been _that_ long, or am I just that good?”

“Just take it as a compliment,” Patrick says through gritted teeth, the flush in his cheeks burning even hotter. “Come on, Wentz, or I’ll just finish it off myself.”

Pete shakes his head vigorously at that. “Can’t have that, can we? I miss being the one that makes you come.” Patrick flushes once again, of course, and Pete goes back to work after that, bringing his hands up to assist his mouth. He wraps one around his cock and the other around the back of his thigh, digging his nails into the soft skin there. It doesn’t take much after that, between Pete’s hands on him and his _fucking_ mouth, _shit._

“Fuck, _Pete_ —” and then he’s gone without warning, his legs feeling a bit like jello and his head hitting the wall hard, but oh _god,_ the concussion he probably has now is worth it. It’s totally worth it.

Pete swallows like a champ, and okay, Patrick has to admit that _maybe_ that stupid mouth of his is good for more than getting himself into trouble. He helps Patrick through the post-orgasm haze, making sure his pants are on the right way and being courteous enough not to laugh when Patrick winces at the scrape of the fabric over the new bruises.

Patrick looks down once he’s gotten himself situated, catching Pete in the midst of a smile, and can’t help smiling himself. The happiness is kind of contagious, he has to admit. He’s supposed to be the grumpier one here, the more self-contained one, but he can feel himself start to unravel underneath that knowing gaze. Seriously, though, Patrick is actually gonna lose himself in those whiskey-colored eyes, and...is that fucker _laughing at him?_

Well, he’s not going to take that one sitting down, so to speak.

“Get back up here,” Patrick mumbles, pulling Pete to his feet. He wipes his mouth, standing up with a stupid, irresistible half-grin, and Patrick pulls him in to kiss him as if his life depends on it. Pete presses up against him eagerly, still achingly hard against his thigh, and Patrick suddenly gets an idea. He's always loved to trace over Pete's tattoos in one way or another, be it with his hands or, more appropriately for this sort of thing, his mouth.

“Shirt. Off.” Patrick commands, tugging roughly at the hem. Pete reaches down quickly to help him, pulling it the rest of the way over his head. He flips them around, bracing Pete against the wall instead, and gets to work.

Patrick works his way down his neck and collarbones gradually, biting marks around the necklace of thorns as Pete whimpers and hisses in response. It’s his turn to be the frustrating one, now. One of his hands drifts down to the waistband of his underwear, and Pete’s hips buck against him impatiently, riding the tail end of a moan. Patrick pauses to smile up at him devilishly, palming against him slowly, as if he has all the time in the world.

Pete gasps, banging his head back against the wall, and Patrick grins. He is really, really enjoying the weird sense of vengeance he’s getting out of all of this. Maybe never hooking up during the hiatus was a good idea if this how much it affects Pete. The satisfaction of watching him squirm is kind of intoxicating. He’s never going to get tired of watching Pete blush. He doesn’t do it often, but when he does? Patrick can’t get enough of it.

“Oh god, Trick,” Pete groans, his voice strained. “Please. I love you, this is great, _you're_ great, but please. I’m gonna have to ask you to move this along.”

Patrick complies, moving his mouth back up to the spot where his shoulder and neck meet and sucking there, moving his hand in slow, steady strokes that keep Pete falling apart in his arms. He brushes his thumb over the head and bites down on his collarbone, and Pete shudders so hard Patrick’s surprised he hasn’t come already. He’s picked up some stamina since the last time they did this. “You sure, Peter? Because last time I recall, you seemed to have a lot of fun with teasing me. Don’t I get a turn?”

Pete catches his gaze, pupils blown so wide that Patrick can barely even see a hint of brown in his eyes. “I have been _so_ turned on since the minute you dragged me in here and locked the door behind us. I promise that later, you can do _whatever you want_ to me, but right now I’m gonna be a totally desperate asshole and ask you to _come on._ ”

“Whatever I want?” Patrick asks, a smirk curling up the ends of his lips.

Pete nods, making a muffled, broken sound in the back of his throat as Patrick pumps faster. “Yes, yes, yes, _whatever_. Anything, just — oh, _fuck._ ”

Patrick knows he’s close now, cuts him off with a rough kiss. He pulls at Pete’s lower lip with his teeth, watching the way his breath hitches momentarily and his cheeks flush an even darker pink. He’s got this all under his control now; he knows the signs. They’ve been down this road before. Leaning in so that his lips barely brush Pete’s ear, he whispers in the quietest, yet filthiest voice he can muster, “okay, baby, then come for me.”

And that’s all it takes.

Pete comes with a broken-off moan, legs going shaky at last. He slides down the wall, pulling Patrick with him, and they both hit the cold floor roughly. They end up wrapped around each other awkwardly, Pete's back still pressed against the wall and Patrick leaning against his chest, but the positioning is quickly forgotten when lazy kisses are exchanged, slow and easy. They’re a sweaty, sticky mess, and it’s going to be hard to make it back to the boys without attracting any attention for “taking so long to get dressed”, but neither of those things seem to matter right now. All that matters is that they’re together again, two halves of a whole, just like it should be.

Patrick slides his hands back into Pete’s hair, now messier than ever, as the latter slips his tongue into his mouth. His chest fills with something warm and aching, and the sensation spreads throughout his whole body, intensifying at every point that Pete touches him. It's blissfully addictive, to say the least, and now the memories of doing this after shows are flooding back to him full force. Damn, he is _really_ glad the band is back together again.

“So, uh...round two later?” Pete asks sheepishly, grinning somewhat. Patrick hates how fucking adorable it is and kisses him _again_ , pointedly brushing their noses together.

“Yeah, sure.” Patrick grins right back, cupping his face in his hands. He’ll never admit it, but he really does love this man. “You can count on it.”

It’s been _way_ too long.


End file.
